Mary Connealy (71 page)

“By the time she was four, she was picking lint off the carpet under the presser.”

Hannah suspected Libby had been doing that when she’d been hurt. Children as young as three were often forced into the mills. She still wanted to cry when she thought of the shape Libby had been in when Trevor had found her.

Trevor had carried her home, dark rage in his eyes as he demanded that Hannah take her in. As if Hannah would have refused.

They’d taken her to the doctor for her broken ankle, Hannah pretending to be her mother so no questions would be asked. The ankle had to be rebroken before it would heal. Grace’s first envelope of money had come the same day as the doctor’s bill.

“How would you like to get to know Grace?” Hannah considered all the complications. But Hannah was out of ideas. Hunting down her big sister tempted her beyond her ability to resist.

The three-year-old brightened and sat up, looking at Hannah with eager eyes. With a sigh of relief, Hannah could tell that Libby was going to get over this cold without it going into her chest. A rugged little girl who’d lived through three operations and been thrown out onto the street with less regard than that given to a wounded animal, Libby was tough.

I wonder if maybe Libby isn’t tougher than I am
.

“I think we ought to go visit Grace.”

The hope in Libby’s expression ate at Hannah’s heart.
No one should want to leave their home this much
. But Chicago hadn’t been kind to either of them.

A flush tinted Libby’s cheeks that made her look almost healthy.

Hannah decided then and there to act on the notion playing around in her head. They were getting out of here. “We’re going really soon, and we’re going on the train.”

A gasp of excitement shook Libby’s little body.

Hannah hugged her tightly. A train meant change. It meant getting away and starting over. To Libby, a train must sound like a dream come true. “We do have a couple of problems.”

Libby’s eyes narrowed, and her brow furrowed.

Hannah almost smiled at the childish determination. There was a problem. They’d overcome it. That’s how children of the street survived.

Hannah almost trembled, she was so afraid of what had happened to Grace. She kept thinking that Parrish had finally found her.

Libby tugged on her dress as if to ask, “What problems?”

“Well…the…uh…the main problem is…” Hannah looked down and smiled at this sister of her heart. “We can’t afford tickets.” Hannah remembered Grace’s plan to stow away in the baggage car. That was what she and Libby would do.

The other problem Hannah didn’t speak of. What would they find when they got to Mosqueros, Texas? Hannah wanted out of the city for Libby, but she also had an overwhelming urge to go rescue her big sister. Wherever Grace was, she must be in terrible, terrible trouble.

Grace snuggled under the covers, thinking of her blissful life. A rumble of thunder had jarred her from sleep. She shifted position, disturbing Daniel, who had been holding her close in his arms.

“Rain.” She gave Daniel’s shoulder a good jostle. “Wake up. It’s spring.”

“It’s the middle of March. It’s not spring yet.” Daniel rolled over, grumbling.

“This is Texas. Spring comes in March.” Grace laughed and gave him a solid poke in the ribs with her elbow.

He sighed deeply. Then the thunder sounded again and he sat up beside her. He ran his hand over his rumpled blond hair. “Rain’ll speed things along, melting us out of here.” He looked sideways at her and smiled.

“Still trying to escape from this marriage, Mr. Reeves?” she sassed.

Daniel grabbed her and hugged her tight. “I reckon I give up. I am well and truly caught.” He left to start the kitchen fire.

Lying in bed still, nearly humming with the pleasure of her new life, Grace watched him leave. It was more than she’d ever dreamed possible. Oh, the boys were pills, especially Mark. And Parrish might still be out there somewhere. But what could he do now? She was a married woman. Any claim of fatherhood was dissolved by her marriage. The law wouldn’t stand by while she was handed over to him. And neither would Daniel.

And what about Hannah and the rest of the sisters who had escaped from Parrish? If only all her sisters could know the joy of having a family. She was suddenly glad that Parrish had chased after her. Yes, she’d been hounded nearly into the ground, but at least her sisters had been safe. And now she was, too.

She said quietly to the ceiling, “If Parrish did show up now, Daniel would protect me. Daniel loves me.” He’d never said it, but Grace knew with heart-deep assurance it was true. She threw back the covers, excited to think about the coming of spring.

When her feet hit the floor, the room lifted up off the ground, spun around over her head, then turned on its side. She fell face forward, scrambling to grab the bedpost. Her hand slipped, and she crashed to the floor.

T
he children ran screaming across the playground, enjoying their morning recess. What little beasts they were. Parrish went to the door and rang the school bell, ending their fun with relish.

He’d dreamed about Grace again last night, about hurting her. And he’d awakened so hungry for his revenge that he needed to work it off on someone.

Parrish stood just inside the door as the children trooped into the schoolhouse. They were instantly silent. He’d trained them well. The littlest McClellen girl hung back with her sisters. She was just a bit older than Grace had been when she’d first come to him. Grace’s hair had been this same white-blond color. He’d been too easy on Grace.

Sally McClellen was finding out how he should have acted. He knew just what he was going to do when he got his hands on Grace this time.

Spring was slow in coming. The weather had turned warm, but not warm enough to melt the snow in that gap. He’d heard talk around town about the Reeveses. He’d listened but had been careful not to show any interest. No one knew if that gap had ever snowed closed before. Until Daniel Reeves had moved in there, no one in the area had even realized the canyon existed.

Several times he heard men talking at church—which he faithfully attended to pick up gossip and impress parents with his piety—about scaling the sides of the canyon and checking to see if the Reeveses were faring well.

They talked, but the consensus was Daniel had beef enough and supplies to last all winter and he’d be fine. There was no need for someone to risk his neck climbing in there. Parrish learned that Daniel was a Kansas farmer with five little boys. He also knew the man hadn’t been in the war, spent time in the frontier army, or been on a cattle drive, things that would have made him tough.

Luther, an old hand on the McClellens’ ranch, said he might make the climb just to spend time in the mountains again. Buff, his saddle partner, snorted and said there was no such thing as a Texas mountain.

“These hills wouldn’t be foothills in the Rockies,” Luther agreed. Luther discussed a way across the top of the bluff, where a man could go most of the way with no trouble if he went afoot.

Parrish heard every word. He’d spent enough time scouting the area that he knew the exact place Luther meant.

Parrish was running out of patience. His dreams were coming more often. Sleep was eluding him. The children were grating on his nerves. If that fat old Luther could get in there, then so could Parrish. He could handle Daniel Reeves and his whelps, and he could haul one little woman back out with him. He slapped his ruler on his hand, hungry just thinking about what he’d do to Grace.

“Adam!” Tillie slammed through the barn door.

Adam looked up from the roan that he’d taken back from vigilantes who’d been gunning for Sophie. He straightened and smiled. He looked at her pretty face and knew he needed to talk to her, too. He gave his horse a soft slap on the rump and laid the brush aside. Swinging the stall gate closed behind him, he walked right up to Tillie. She looked excited about something, but he decided he needed to go first, before she said something that got him off the subject.

He forced himself to say what had been on his mind from the first minute he clapped eyes on her. “You are the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

Tillie’s open mouth stopped yammering as if every thought had fled from her mind.

“Yep, and you’re not the same woman I found out in the hills that first night.”

“I—I’m not?” she stammered.

“Nope. That woman was afraid of her own shadow.”

“Did you decide that before or after I beat you up?”

Adam felt his brows slam together. “I’ve told you a dozen times I was trying not to hurt you. Now don’t start that. You’ve been so busy with Sophie and those babies that we haven’t even been able to go on another ride. And I need to find out more about how you want the house laid out. I’m ready to start building.”

Tillie crossed her arms as if he’d just insulted her. “Why on earth would I care how you lay out your house, Adam?”

Adam wondered if women were born so scatterbrained or if it was something they learned at their mamas’ knees. He figured the trait must be inborn, because his Sophie hadn’t spent much time at her mama’s knee, and she had that same twisting-turning way about her thinking.

“You need to like it.”

Tillie’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Another dumb question. But Adam didn’t point that out. He’d learned a lot from watching Clay chase his tail around his womenfolk. He knew there was a fitting way to talk to women. At least fitting to their way of thinking, dumb as it seemed. He relaxed and smiled, though his stomach twisted in a way that made it mighty hard to keep the corners of his mouth turned up.

“Because…” Adam fished around in his head. He’d read some books. He’d heard talk. He knew what she wanted. He sank to one knee on the straw-covered barn floor and took her hand.

Her eyes widened until white showed all the way around, like the eyes of his roan when it had a bad scare. That wasn’t what Adam wanted to see. Still, he floundered on. “Because I want you to marry me.”

Her jaw dropped open. Adam was grateful it was still early spring, or bugs would have flown into her mouth.

“Since when?”

Adam’s heart sank a bit, and he stood, thinking this might go better if he was standing over her a bit. “Why, since almost forever, I guess.” He held her hand tighter and pulled her close. “I’ve never given much thought to getting married. And since I’ve met you, I haven’t been able to think of much else.”

“Really?” Her eyes turned from scared to interested.

Adam’s heart quit pounding so hard, although it still seemed as if it might knock clear out of his chest. “You’re a fine woman, Tillie. I think we’d get along well together. Please, will you marry me?”

Tillie stared at him a long, long time. At last, as if her neck became weak, her head dropped down and she looked at their joined hands. “We don’t know each other very well, Adam. I am so honored by your proposal, and”—she looked up, scared again, but a different kind of scared—“a woman likes to hear of love when a man asks for her hand. But I don’t think we know each other well enough to call it love.”

Adam nodded. “But we do know each other well enough to believe love could come with time.” Adam looked at her work-calloused hands, so competent and still so soft. He smiled. “And maybe not that long a time.”

Tillie smiled back. “I believe I’d like to be married to you, Adam.”

Adam laughed and grabbed her around the waist. He lifted her off her feet until she looked down into his eyes, almost as though he’d knelt again. Then he lowered her until her lips met his, and she came halfway to meet him.

When the kiss ended, he settled her on her own feet again. “Maybe not that long at all, Till. And how would you like a cabin and a barn and maybe even a few children running around our ankles, like Sophie and Clay’s?”

Tillie jumped as if she’d been stabbed by a hat pin. “I didn’t come in here to get proposed to.”

Adam’s heart twisted. Was she taking it all back? Was she changing her mind? “Well then, why did you come in here?”

She grabbed Adam by the collar of his shirt with both hands and shook him.